


On The Subway

by MrsSaxon



Category: Adam (2009), Charlie Countryman (2013)
Genre: Fluff, HHE, Hannigram Holiday Exchange 2016, I have never been on a subway please forgive inaccuracies, M/M, Slow Burn, Spacedogs, Subways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 16:31:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8998411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsSaxon/pseuds/MrsSaxon
Summary: Hannigram Holiday Exchange 2016 Gift for @not-sirius-black (tumblr)Nigel leaves Romania under duress. New York City is not the most welcoming city ever, but there are some unexpected attractions.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LittleSpacePrince](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSpacePrince/gifts).



A long time ago, Nigel had sworn he’d never come to America. But…

Well, that was a long time ago and circumstances being the fucking pisser that they were, here he was. And, to be fair, America had its very own appealing qualities: an enormous population size to get lost in, an enormous population to scam, embezzle, and threaten, and an enormous crime ring to partner the enormous population. Those were the chief advantages to Nigel’s mind. And what better place to hide from authorities, than in the biggest hotbed of them all: New York City.

Still, these prudent advantages aside: he fucking hated it. The noise, the smell, the complete absence of his mother tongue. And he was no one in New York, just another brutish immigrant with a thick accent everyone ignored or insulted. Fucking brilliant. Not that he couldn’t handle the general rudeness, at least American’s vulgarity made him feel at home.

Not like he had a choice though. If he went back to Bucharest, he’d walk off the plane into a firing squad. Darko’d helped get the papers to bring him here so that was that. New York City was his home now; better fucking start all over again.

Public transportation was decent though. If he needed to cross town for a job, no problem. The subway ran much more dependably here than it did in Romania. Far fewer gunshot holes in the walls too, mostly. He stepped onto the train, hoping today he might get a repeat offer and finally make enough money to pay for more than lunch. He did good work; he had always done good work. He just needed one boss to realize that.

Everyone politely shuffled to make way for him when he slid inside, making for a hand rail near the window. The school of people all folded back around him, but somehow managed to leave a little bubble of space around him. Nigel raised an eyebrow, looking out at all the downcast faces. They must be scared of him. Nigel grinned. There were worst first impressions to make.

At stops, Nigel didn’t change seats, choosing to hold onto his handle quietly while so many shuffled around him. Again, the space around him was the last to fill up, even the far back of the car squashed together before bothering him. At this stop, however, as the train closed its doors and threatened to start moving again though, one soft, curly head finally took up the position in front of him.

Nigel cocked his head. Was the young man unafraid or just unaware? He eyed the man’s figure: coat zipped all the way up, despite a very full car, his free hand stuffed firmly into his pocket, invisible, his visible hand white-knuckled on the bar. He carried no briefcase, but a backpack, firmly on his back, not on the ground, with a long case sticking out of it. Musician maybe? In any case, he seemed tense about riding the subway and not interested in conversation. Still didn’t exactly answer Nigel’s question though.

He craned his neck carefully, trying to see around his heavy pack to his face without being noticed watching him. All he could make out was a grim line of a mouth and an anxious, but vacant look in the eyes. Wide and blue, just Nigel’s type. Nigel leaned out of his periphery again. The young man seemed more afraid of his surroundings than he was aware of the literal killer standing behind him. Maybe he wasn’t local, maybe he was new here too. Nigel cocked his head, considering. He was a handsome young man, skin so pale it was hard to tell his knuckles were clenched. You’d have to know what to look for.

The young man stood stiffly, trying to move as little as possible despite the jostling of the train. He tucked his feet in, and his elbows, trying to interfere with the other people in the car as little as possible. It wasn’t as though the average person was all that chummy on public transportation, but there was something about the decided shyness of him that intrigued Nigel. He still couldn’t place whether it stemmed from foreign-ness or something else. But the young man left before he could crack the mystery. Nigel watched him make fast for the door, hurrying to be gone, and yet refusing to shove or push. A courteous subway patron, Nigel almost felt sorry for him.

His own stop was next and Nigel put the curious young man out of his head and focused on the job. Today’s gig was intimidation, Nigel’s favorite: all of the brute force, none of the ass-kicking clean up. Hilariously, no one seemed to know how to do it right, pussy-footing around in directionless silence. Nigel finally fired four holes into the ground and laid out the rules himself. The boss was very pleased. Good, finally back in a leadership position where he belonged. Back again next week to oversee a shipment, things were certainly looking up.

It was late by the time Nigel returned to the subway, rubbing his eyes and sitting in the near-deserted car. Even the electrical lights had the grey and dingy quality of 2 am about them. How charming. He rubbed his face, trying to decide what he wanted more: a long, hot shower or pizza. It was lucky some of the best and hottest pizza was served at 2 am around here.

Nigel leaned back, relaxing in the empty car and blinked in surprise to notice a familiar, lumpy backpack in the far corner. It couldn’t be, what was the shy, young man doing riding home at this hour? Nigel raised his eyes and his mouth parted, catching the young man’s face in full for the first time. There could be no question, it was definitely the same boy, the same wide, anxious eyes and closed posture. And now Nigel was afforded the full view of his moon-soaked skin and the rumpled, molasses curl wafting across his forehead. Nigel immediately wondered how he smiled, if he ever smiled. His look was so far away and so dour, Nigel doubted if the boy had ever been happy.

Nigel realized he’d been staring for some time and shifted his gaze to the ground, but the boy paid him no mind. In his periphery, Nigel watched him flick his hair out of his eyes, worrying the careless lock as it disobediently flew wherever it wished. His coat was unzipped now; the lack of people probably relaxed him. Beneath the coat Nigel could make out a collared shirt and a cardigan, so a desk job of some kind, probably respectable too. The odds of musician were growing slimmer, which made the strange case sticking out of his pack the more curious. A gun was a laughable concept. Nigel snorted to himself just considering it.

The boy looked up at the sound, glancing at him. Nigel self-consciously stretched out, reclining on the seat and hooking his legs together far in front of him. He tilted his head back, bearing his throat, making a show of being relaxed and casual. The boy looked away, focusing on the ground in front of him, his free hand curling on his knee. Nigel sighed and berated himself for trying too hard.

Again, the boy got off before him, shrugging on his backpack and zipping up his coat as he headed for the door. Nigel thought he might get one last peek while he was in motion, but for a split second their eyes met, Nigel glancing up just as the young man swept the car on his way out. The boy didn’t take him in for more than a second, hardly time to react. He surveyed Nigel as he surveyed the whole space, the same neutral anxiety, but no true fear. Nigel looked after him once he had gone. The boy had looked right through him, like he was just more of the uncomfortable furniture. He didn’t look at him as a foreigner. He didn’t look at him as a threat either. Curious, curious boy.

Nigel hoped he’d be under those blue eyes again.

The next morning, Nigel missed the train. He’d slept in late, unusual for him, and stood there cursing himself on the platform. Of course, he really shouldn’t care that much, he hadn’t even spoken to the boy. He probably didn’t remember him at all. More’s the pity… no, no, he had no reason to want to get to know the boy better. Just… put him out of your mind and do your fucking job. Christ.

The day after that was Saturday, and though Nigel was on time again, he didn’t see the boy. Nor the day after that. But on Monday the quiet, stubborn hope within him flared. It was a work day again, maybe… just maybe. He shaved that morning, taking the time to apply good aftershave, looking a little more presentable and less like the ragged, grimy criminal he was. People stood closer to him today. With combed hair and a clean look, he was slightly less intimidating. Nigel’s lip curled, tapping his foot unhappily. He hadn’t done all this to be approachable, goddamnit. Or at least, only to one specific person.

After the next stop Nigel kept glancing toward the door, obviously waiting for someone if anyone had taken a mind to watch him today. He was tall, but there were still a few heads in his way. He should have picked a spot closer to the door…

The train at last came to its stop and the doors opened. Dozens flooded in, tens trickled out. Nigel watched for a particular curly head, probably ducked, probably scooting along as quickly and quietly as possible.

The boy appeared, heavy coat and pack and strange awkward case all together. Nigel suppressed a smile quickly, but his eyes followed him, bright and eager, as he squirmed between people and eventually holed up on the opposite side of the car. Nigel deflated, disappointed. He couldn’t even get a good look at him from this angle: he had his head down, shielding his baby blue eyes away from anyone who might wish to notice them. Well… if the crowd wouldn’t obey him, then he’d simply become part of the crowd. On the next stop, he edged forward a few places, more in parallel to the young man. Perhaps he’d notice, but then again, perhaps Nigel didn’t want him to.

The young man did not look up, absorbed in staring at the black, speckled, strangely sticky floor of the car. Nigel leaned onto a handlebar, unapologetic about his space, and eyed the patch of ground the boy stared at. It was, miraculously, unencumbered by feet, and while surrounded by stains and spills, ground in gum and shoe scuffs, the particular inch wide space the boy stared at was pristine. The black just as dark and the speckles just as white as when the car was new. And the boy had managed to find it. Nigel smiled to himself, cocking his head. Carefully, he looked up at the boy, drinking in his contented occupation. He seemed less anxious when he was absorbed in something and he seemed to be thinking deeply now.

The train rolled to a stop and dinged as the doors opened. The boy looked up, surprised, apparently so lost in thought he’d nearly forgotten where he was supposed to get off. Nigel intentionally stepped in front of passengers behind him, giving the young man time to collect himself and get off the train unmolested. He did not look back at him, nor did he notice the ease with which he exited the train, but the visible sigh of relief when he was off was enough for Nigel. He hoped very, very much he might see the young man again tonight. Perhaps he might even get a chance to introduce himself.

His appearance raised many an eyebrow at work, inciting several comments that he must have a new girl or was going soft. An accusation Nigel bared his teeth at with relish. If he had a face as ugly as some of the men here, he’d be afraid to shave it too. He almost took a black eye for that, practically daring the man to hit him, go on, _see what happens_ , but the boss was, unfortunately, watching and put an end to it. Pity. A black eye might have been an interesting talking point with his young friend. Or, given his cautious nature, maybe not.

Nigel boarded the train with anxious energy, wide awake tonight despite the hour. He scanned the few faces in the car; the boy wasn’t boarded yet. Nigel’s heart sank, trying to remember when he boarded on the night ride, wondering how he could have missed it the first time. Nigel stood, arm looped over a hand rail, thinking to himself about where the boy would need to get on and not paying any attention to the fluorescent lights flicking past the windows or the still, quiet of the car.

At the next stop, Nigel brought his head up, hopeful. A tired, but familiar pale face appeared, dragging his backpack with the plastic, black case inside the car. Nigel looked away fast, lighting up with enthusiasm. No problems, he’d just wait for the boy to pick a seat, then mosey over, nonthreatening as you please. He could do this.

The boy sat in the far corner, back to the door as usual, scrunched against the walls for comfort. His face slumped onto his hand as he stared out the window at the blurred rush of bricks, then space, then bricks, then space. Long day, apparently. Nigel timed his movement carefully, not wanting to draw his attention. Three long, measured strides to his bench, silent under the heavy rumbling of the train. He didn’t give himself time to stand, but sat down immediately at the opposite end of the boy’s bench, plenty of space between them. Nigel bent his legs under the seat, clasping his hands in front of him like a child in prayer. He guessed that was nonthreatening, he was trying anyway.

The young man had seen him move in his periphery and had looked up when he sat down, lifting his head off his hand and a shift of tension running across his face. Nigel kept his face down and neutral, staring blankly at the space under the seats in front of him like it was the most fascinating work of art he’d ever fucking seen. The boy fidgeted, pulling his bag closer. His posture was no longer that of defeat, he was now alert and did not seem pleased about it. Nigel winced internally, bad start this.

He heard a jingling next to him. Surprised, Nigel turned his head and found the young man tugging and playing with his keys. He fiddled with them, swinging them together. Nigel looked at his face and saw some of the tension had eased. Huh. The few other people in the car moved down, annoyed with the noise, but Nigel stayed, watching the young man run his fingers over and over the metal rings and jagged teeth. He could tell something was going on here, he just didn’t know what.

In the middle of playing with them, the young man dropped his keys and flushed bright red. He felt around for them on the ground, clearly mortified by his mistake. Nigel leaned over and gently nudged them into his hand. The young man started and blinked up at him.

Nigel smiled, “Wouldn’t want to lose these.”

The young man gripped them tightly and sat back hard, shrinking into himself. “Thank you,” he muttered.

 “Is it the sound?” he wondered aloud, leaning back and tearing his gaze from the young man.

“E-Excuse me?” the young man turned to him, unsure.

“Do you play with your keys for the sound they make?” Nigel tried again, curious.

“It’s um… yes, sort of,” he looked down at his keys, fumbling for words, “it’s comforting to me.”

Nigel cocked his head, then nodded, “Doubly important to keep track of then.”

“Er, yes… yes they are,” the boy hazarded a smile, still clearly a fish out of water, but starting to warm up.

Nigel knew the boy’s stop was growing ever closer, but neither did he want to bombard him with questions.

“I haven’t seen you here before, have I?” the young man interjected.

Nigel blinked and turned to him, taken aback by his forthrightness. “Yes, I think I’ve seen you before,” he nodded slowly.

The boy nodded. “I remember I saw you here last week. You looked very tired, you don’t look so tired now.”

Nigel’s eyes widened, staring at the young man. He… remembered him. And he’d noticed all that. “You’re right, I was tired,” Nigel grinned, bemused, “and I am less tired now.”

The young man smiled a little.

“What is it?” Nigel asked.

“I’m just glad I read your face correctly, faces are hard, for me,” the young man explained, zipping up his coat as the train slowed down.

“I can be very hard to read,” Nigel cocked his head up into the light, looking at the young man out of the corner of his eye, “so congratulations.”

The boy didn’t say anything, but he did smile as he stood up, ducking his head away and looking at the floor. But he was still smiling.

“A pleasure meeting you,” Nigel said on his way out. The boy hesitated, confused and flustered in the doorway, almost tripping up. He managed to get through the doors and just wave in return, head down, Nigel presumed in embarrassment.

Nigel let himself smile all the way home. What an odd, confidence-lacking, surprising young man. Not scared of him at all. And definitely worth all the curiosity Nigel’d spent on him. Unwrap one layer to find just more layers to unwrap. Maybe New York City had something here for him after all other than an escape route.

It wasn’t until Nigel reached his stop that he realized he hadn’t even gotten the boy’s name.

But, in the morning, Nigel slung on his favorite leather jacket and walked to the subway station in long, easy strides, unhurried by the rushing, work-bound masses around him. He took a spot by the window, making a point of leaving the place in front of him empty.

In two more stops, a cautious, rumple-headed young man walked in and noticed the empty spot in front of Nigel. He blinked once up at Nigel before walking into the spot.

“Good morning,” the young man murmured, fidgeting as he settled into the spot.

“Good morning,” Nigel returned, smiling, “I forgot to ask you for your name last night.”

“Oh, it’s Adam,” the boy craned his head over his shoulder to smile politely.

Nigel inclined his head, “Nigel.”

Adam nodded, relaxing.

Nigel cocked his head at the familiar, lumpy bag and grinned. “Adam, I’ve always wanted to ask you, what’s that case in your bag?”


End file.
